Missing Files
by e1evenc1ara
Summary: A series of one-shots set in the IT Guy-verse. Eleven/Clara AU.
1. Me Too

This is a collection of short stories set before, during, and after _The IT Guy_ and _Postcards from New York_. Each story is written in response to a prompt I've received on tumblr. You are free to send in prompts, but just know that I am currently working on a sequel to _Postcards from New York_ (which is, of course, a sequel to _The IT Guy_) so if your prompt conflicts with my plans for that story, I will have to reject it (nicely and with kisses).

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><p><em>This is set towards the end of<em> The IT Guy_, when Clara moves in with the Doctor_

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><p><strong>Me Too<strong>

The Doctor drove them down to Brixton after work on Friday, where they started packing all of Clara's things into his car. She was leaving all of her furniture behind since Nina would have better luck renting out a furnished room, but Clara had suitcases full of clothes and shoes—_Who even has this many shoes, Clara?—_and numerous boxes of books, DVDs, pens, paper, and lots of storage compartments for all of her belongings. She was meticulous about keeping everything in order.

By Saturday afternoon, they had everything packed away in one last load in the car. Clara lied and told the Doctor she'd forgotten something in the bathroom and ran upstairs while he started the car. She sat on the edge of the bed and looked around at the empty room that had been her home for the past eight months and felt its emptiness echo inside of her. It felt like only yesterday that she'd moved in.

She turned and looked over her shoulder when she heard Nina knock softly on the door. "Knock, knock," she said with a grin.

Nina always did that, knock and say the words "Knock, knock" as if the actual rapping of her knuckles wouldn't catch Clara's attention.

She walked around the foot of the bed and sank onto the mattress next to Clara. "Having second thoughts?" she teased. She sounded a little hopeful.

"No," Clara assured her with a light laugh. She bowed her head. "You know me. Just feeling nostalgic."

"You? Nostalgic?" Nina gasped mockingly. They both laughed.

"You don't think I'm mad, do you?" Clara said suddenly, her gaze growing distant as she stared at the empty corner near the window. "For moving in with him so soon?"

Nina didn't say anything. Clara whipped her gaze towards her for fear that she'd see a hesitant look in her friend's face that would confirm all of her nagging fears, but Nina just smiled and shook her head. "No, I' don't think you're mad. Not for moving in with him, at least. I mean, you might change your mind when you discover some of his more bizarre habits and you've had like, your fifteenth fight about the dishes in the sink or some rubbish like that, but—I like him, Clara."

And that was it. Clara wasn't afraid that she was making the wrong decision because of some great lack of compatibility between her and the Doctor; her real fear was that Nina secretly didn't approve. It was an irrational fear, of course—Nina didn't secretly do anything. "Yeah?"

Nina grinned broadly at the dopey, lovesick look on her friend's face. "Yeah. He's a good one. I can tell."

"Oh yeah? How's that?"

"Because he cares what I think about him."

"Yeah?"

Nina nodded. "Yeah. Definitely a good sign. Blokes who don't care about your friends and family and want to keep you all to themselves are bad eggs, Clara."

Realisation dawning, Clara grimaced sympathetically. "Edwin?"

Nina rolled her eyes and sighed. "Yeah. I sure know how to pick 'em, don't I?" Clara wrapped a comforting arm around her and laughed at Nina's immediate reaction of disgust. "Don't you dare comfort me, Clara Oswald. Just because you're leaving me to live with your gorgeous boyfriend in his amazing flat does _not_ mean you get to pity me."

She laughed and shook her head, hands raised in surrender. Nina's expression softened.

"You better keep in touch, Clara. I'll be cross if you disappear from my life completely."

Clara sucked in a deep breath and then released a strangled laugh. "God, Nina…"

Both girls erupted in tears before wrapping their arms around each other. They heard feet shuffling on the stairs and then a cough at the doorway. Turning, Clara smiled tearfully at the Doctor.

"Everything alright?" he asked hesitantly, sensing he was butting in.

She wiped her eyes and nodded. "You know me. Sentimental."

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><p>They spent the rest of their Saturday unpacking all of Clara's things and finding homes for them around the flat. The Doctor had always thought he kept a rather tidy home, but then Clara waltzed in with all her storage bins and mini-shelves and his flat became a lot more cluttered than it had been before she moved in.<p>

There were curling tongs and hair products and makeup bags in the bathroom, along with one of those pink fluffy loofa things hanging from the handle in the shower. The mugs accruing in the sink had lipstick stains on the rims, and there was always an folded afghan at the end of the sofa in case she got cold while watching TV.

She hung things on the walls: a painting she'd bought from a street artist in Montmartre during a school trip to Paris, a photo collage of her with friends and family (including that photo she'd taken of him holding up his little cookie replica at last year's Christmas party), and a photo of her parents. She bought another dresser from IKEA to fit the rest of her clothes and they spent one evening bickering over the directions until, magically, the dresser was up against the wall. Afterwards, the Doctor had fallen onto the bed with a groan of exhaustion and watched Clara carefully fold all of her clothes and arrange them neatly in each drawer.

She left books everywhere—on the nightstand, at the foot of the bed in an unsteady pile, and spread open on the last page she'd been reading on the kitchen counter. They were books about the Ancient Greeks or Cleopatra, or her favourite Jane Austen novel that she tried to read when he wasn't looking, as if she were afraid he'd tease her. She'd lay her head in his lap and read when they were on the sofa at night, or later in bed she'd lie on her side next to her bedside lamp and he'd curl up around her, muttering questions about who she was cheating on him with that night. She'd chuckle, finish the paragraph she'd been reading, and then put the book away before turning in his arms for a snug embrace.

Her things were now scattered everywhere, but Doctor didn't feel like she was crowding his once spacious flat; he felt like she was filling it.

Before, he wouldn't step out of the shower and immediately hear her laughter in the living room while she chatted on the phone with her dad, or her fingers typing away at her laptop while she worked on acquiring her teaching license. Before, he would only hear the dripping of the water from the faucet or his damp feet sticking to the bathroom tile.

He loved whenever he'd sit next to her on the sofa while he was watching TV and she was on her laptop. They would be wrapped up in their own little worlds, and then suddenly her left hand would slide up the back of his neck and she'd scratch the back of his head. He loved whenever she'd stand on her tiptoes to lean over the "abnormally wide" bathroom counter to get a better look at herself in the mirror while she put on mascara every morning. He loved the way her hair felt draped against her pillow at night, cascading in soft waves that he skimmed with his fingers before tracing the contours of her face.

It wasn't always perfect, though.

Clara drank most of the coffee every morning and left the dishes in the sink to soak for longer than he cared to have dirty dishes cluttering the sink. Somehow that always ended up being his chore, and he hated doing the dishes, especially since she always left bites of food on her plate from dinner. That got under his skin for whatever reason; he couldn't understand why she wouldn't ever eat all of her food. Sometimes she'd sing a song that was stuck in her head, but she would sing every other note, like she was only willing to commit to the down beats.

"Clara?"

"Hmm?"

"You're humming again."

"Sorry."

He knew he wasn't perfect, either. Clara had shot him a mildly horrified look one evening when she walked into the bathroom to find him clipping his toenails over the sink. She was constantly reminding him not to leave his running clothes on the bathroom floor, which he had a bad habit of leaving on the rug every morning when he took his shower. He was also a bit loud every morning, banging about in the bathroom or the kitchen or answering early calls in a loud voice.

She met Nina for drinks every Thursday night after work. One week she came back slightly tipsier than usual and casually mentioned that some bloke had asked for her number twice and bought her a drink towards the end of the night.

"Did you not tell him you had a boyfriend?" he asked impatiently.

She'd giggled and leaned against the bedroom door, her hands tucked behind her back as he leaned against the doorframe. He hadn't noticed how he'd moved in towards her until her eyes dipped between their bodies and then he was kissing her, his fingers gripping her waist while she gasped against his lips.

Frankly, it was the best sex they'd ever had.

"I suppose there's some good in having a jealous boyfriend," she'd teased afterwards with an affectionate tap on his nose.

"I'm not jealous."

"Of course you're not."

He worried things would feel strange once she left TARDIS Industries and they stopped going to work together in the mornings or meeting each other for lunch, but actually, they clashed less frequently now they weren't spending nearly every waking moment in each other's company. The more time they spent apart merely sweetened the time they spent together, something he understood even more completely when she went out of town to visit her aunt in the hospital. They'd stayed on the phone until the early hours of the morning, mostly yawning at each other and teasing about how much they'd missed having the bed all to themselves. When she got back Sunday night, she'd immediately curled into his side when they went to bed.

"I don't know if you've noticed," she muttered against his chest while he played with the ends of her hair. "But I'm a bit partial to you."

He chuckled softly and tucked his chin against his chest so he could peer at her through the darkness. "Yeah?"

She snuggled further into him, making soft whining sounds like a little, burrowing animal. He chuckled and tightened his hold on her, sighing contentedly as he closed his eyes and pressed his cheek against the top of her head. He felt her lungs expand with every intake of breath and thought about how he would spend the entire night holding her if his arms wouldn't be so stiff in the morning.

"Are you terribly sleepy?" she asked.

"Mmm," groaned softly in reply.

Clara pouted. "You got used to having the bed all to yourself while I was gone, didn't you?"

She nestled firmly against his side, her leg curling over his as she pressed delicate kisses against his neck. "Perhaps if I wake someone else up, you'll feel differently."

He was already grinning as she settled on top of him, one hand gripping his hip as she rolled herself against him. He kissed her, his own hands rising to settle in her hair and against her backside. Clara chuckled against his lips.

"Oh, dear," she muttered with a grin while his fingers slipped beneath the hem of her pyjama bottoms. "I think he's awake. Ohhh, I think he's coming for me!"

She gave a little squeal when he rolled her onto her back and she giggled giddily against his lips. The Doctor chuckled softly and gripped her waist, his thumbs brushing the undersides of her breasts as he gazed at her fondly. "He most certainly is, you silly girl."

He kissed her forehead, her cheeks, and the tip of her nose, which wrinkled as Clara giggled at his attention. She gasped appreciatively when his lips moved to her neck, and her eyelids fluttered shut when she felt his breath against her ear.

"I much prefer sharing the bed with you."

"That so?" she replied in a husky voice.

He lifted up and nodded, smiling at her. "That's so."

Clara's heart raced as he looked at her. She had a feeling he'd share everything with her right then, and not just because he wanted her. He'd told her he loved her many times and she'd always understood, but this was the first time she'd ever properly felt it.

"Me too," she replied eagerly as he kissed her. She wrapped her arms around his neck and whined as he slid his hand over her abdomen. "Me too."


	2. My Love

_This is set almost directly after_ Postcards from New York

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><p><strong>My Love<strong>

Even though it had been two months since he proposed, Clara still gazed at the ring on her finger with a sense of disbelief. It felt odd to be engaged, perhaps because she had never been engaged before and she had preconceived ideas of how it was supposed to feel that didn't match up with her reality. It felt wonderful, but aside from the added stress of planning their wedding, her relationship with the Doctor hadn't altered much.

No—that wasn't true.

After his breakdown in New York, Clara's eyes had been opened to insecurities that she'd previously overlooked in the Doctor's behaviour. Before, he'd been so unsure of the depth of her attachment to him even though she had felt she'd expressed herself clearly. She could never know his thoughts, but she felt that now that they were engaged and she was aware of his anxieties that he was more at ease in their relationship, less hesitant and afraid.

Then again, he'd been awfully squirrelly after they ran into her ex-boyfriend at the cinema.

Per their routine, the Doctor joined the queue for concessions while Clara reserved their seats in the theatre. She had just sat down and placed her handbag in the seat next to her when someone called her name with a degree of delighted incredulity. Glancing behind her, she saw Mike Lombardi grinning at her from where he stood with a young woman she didn't recognise.

"Mike!" she replied with surprise. The last time they'd seen each other had been the week after their graduation from university.

He leaned across the row of seats to give her a hug. Clara laughed awkwardly and patted his back before pulling back. "I can't believe it's you," he said. "What's it been—six years?"

"I… wow, I suppose so." She smiled brightly and looked at the woman on his arm. Glancing down at his left hand, she noticed the lack of wedding band and tried not to let her distaste show on her face. Last she'd heard, Mike had been married, and it wasn't to the woman standing next to him.

"Yeah," he replied a bit bashfully. He'd noticed the direction of her gaze and scratched the back of his head. "A lot's happened since then. Oh—Sorry!" He put his arm around the woman standing next to him, but didn't really touch her, like he didn't know her well enough to. She was tall, thin, and had long dark hair. She looked uncomfortable. "This is Alison."

Clara nodded at her politely, about to say something like "Nice to meet you" but then a large soda was thrust into her hands.

"Sorry, everything's falling everywhere," the Doctor said in a breathless rush.

He had his arms around a large bucket of popcorn, two bags of Haribo sweets, and another large soda that threatened to slip from his fingers until he nestled it securely in the nearest cup-holder. Mike glanced curiously between them and Clara laughed awkwardly, her hand lifting to the back of the Doctor's elbow.

"Mike, this is the Doctor, my fiancé."

Mike lifted his eyebrows in mild surprise before grinning and offering his hand to the Doctor, who tucked the bucket of popcorn under his arm so he could shake his hand.

"Mike Lombardi."

"Pleasure to meet you."

"This is Alison."

"Oh, Alison! Lovely name. Nice to meet you."

The Doctor glanced between Clara, Mike, and Alison curiously, waiting for an explanation for why he was meeting these people.

"Mike and I went to university together," Clara explained.

Understandably, Mike laughed, a sound he tried to hide as a light cough. They were more than just old pals from school, but things were awkward enough already without having to explain that she and Mike also used to sleep with each other… a lot.

The lights dimmed and the adverts started to play on screen, so they all took their seats. Mike and Alison sat a few seats away in the row behind them, right in the corner of Clara's eyeline. She wasn't sure why, but she kept discreetly glancing back at them, curious to see how closely they sat. Did he and Maureen get a divorce? Were they still together and she'd caught him cheating on his wife? And—oddest of all—was he still attracted to her? She didn't know why she cared when the only man she wanted was currently staring at the screen beside her, tearing Haribo sweets with his teeth in between bites of popcorn.

"So," he whispered loudly, his eyes still on the screen, "Mike's a friend from university?"

She grinned at the overly casual way he brought it up. "Yes."

"Mike… Bombardi?"

"Lombardi."

He cleared his throat. "He was on your list."

About a year ago after they'd first started sleeping together, the Doctor and Clara had stayed up all night in her bed back in Brixton holding each other and tracing patterns on each other's skin with their fingertips. The subject of previous sexual partners had come up and Mike had been one of her four.

Clara grinned, her gaze tearing from the screen so she could glance up at him. "Yes."

He nodded, the lights from the film reflecting in his eyes as watched the woman on screen wake up alone in a strange man's bed. "Interesting."

Yawning, the Doctor covered his mouth and then wrapped his arm around Clara's shoulders.

"Shut up," he muttered when she started giggling at his transparent behaviour.

She leaned closer. "Should we snog?"

"_Clara_," he chided, glancing around nervously to see if anyone had heard her.

"I feel like a fire hydrant, and you're a Cocker Spaniel just whizzing away."

"Clara…"

"Marking your territory."

"I thought that was what that was for," he muttered, tapping the diamond on her finger.

"Hmm, yes," she said, lifting her hand and flexing her fingers so she could get a good look at the diamond, which sparkled in the dim light of the theatre. "Shame there isn't an equivalent for you. I was thinking of getting a diamond-studded collar for your birthday."

He bit back a laugh, resulting in a soft snort of amusement that made the couple behind them shush them in aggravation. The Doctor and Clara exchanged a glance and grinned.

She cried when the heroine died, grateful for the Doctor's possessive hold on her while she sniffled against his shoulder. He muttered at her to shut up when she caught him wiping his eyes, and she laughed and kissed his cheek. "I love you."

After the movie was over, he left her on the pavement outside the theatre while he went around the corner to fetch the car. The cinema was far enough from their flat that walking in the cold was undesirable, but too close to warrant a taxi, and there was no convenient underground route to get them there on time. Clara had checked—she avoided any situation that put the Doctor behind the wheel.

She rubbed her arms to keep herself warm, her hot breath fogging up the air as she waited impatiently for his car to appear around the corner. It was starting to drizzle, dampening the already chilly air to an even more unbearable degree of cold.

"So."

She turned to see Mike approaching her, hands in his coat pockets. "Engaged, eh?"

Clara laughed softly. "Yeah."

He ducked his head. "Congratulations."

"Thanks. Where's Alison?"

"Ah, her sitter called. She had to duck out early."

"Oh, I'm sorry."

His gaze lingered with hers. "Maureen and I divorced last year."

"Oh, I'm sorry," she replied, this time more genuinely. "I haven't seen Maureen since school." She laughed softly. "Or you."

"Yeah, it's been a while," he agreed. He looked her up and down. "You look good."

She laughed awkwardly.

"And engaged to a doctor," he added, sounding impressed.

"Ha, yeah… of sorts."

They both squinted when the headlights of an approaching car washed over them. Clara's smile faltered when she saw the Doctor sitting behind the wheel of the car, watching her curiously behind the windscreen wipers.

She smiled at Mike. "It was good seeing you."

"You too," he replied. He sounded disappointed.

She released a sigh as she sank into the passenger seat of the car and shut the door. "Was there a lot of traffic?"

He stared at her. "No."

"Oh, good. Try not to clip any cyclists this time."

He scoffed with annoyance. "That was… one time. And she was fine!"

Clara giggled. She felt his eyes on her but she didn't look at him for fear that he'd notice the flush creeping onto her cheeks. She'd only talked to Mike; she didn't know why she felt so embarrassed.

"I suppose we should eat something besides popcorn and Haribo sweets," she said as he turned a corner rather sharply. She braced herself for an impact that miraculously never came. "I might need to start running with you in the morning if I'm ever going to fit into a wedding dress."

He parked the car on their street and then looked at her, sighing. Clara lifted both eyebrows, almost daring him to say something ridiculous about seeing her talk to her ex-boyfriend. Instead, he leaned over and kissed her on the cheek before getting out of the car.

Her cheek felt warm where he'd kissed her. Clara stared at the dashboard while he walked around the car and opened her door.

Inside their flat, the Doctor flopped down in front of the telly while she washed up for bed. She didn't know how he could watch TV after sitting through a two-hour movie, but she'd noticed he liked to sit and stare at the screen when he didn't want to think.

She changed into her usual t-shirt and pyjama bottoms before walking into the doorway between the bedroom and the lounge. "You staying up all night?"

He had his arms sprawled along the back of the sofa as he stared sightlessly at the screen. "Hmm?"

She walked over to the sofa and sank into the space next to him, her head lolling against his shoulder as he continued to stare at the screen. "Hey." She tapped the tip of his nose with her finger and he turned to her. "You alright?"

"Hmm?"

"Hmm?" she parroted.

He smiled. "Sorry. Tired."

She kissed his cheek and whispered, "Come to bed, then."

He turned off the TV, casting them both in darkness. Clara blinked rapidly as her eyes adjusted to the light, but she could feel his eyes on her. His arm lowered from the back of the sofa and wrapped around her waist, his hand low on her hip as he pulled her to him.

He covered her lips with his, and she gasped for breath as he kissed her firmly, passionately. She gripped the loose collar of his shirt and he leaned into her, quite literally taking her breath away.

"I love you, sweetheart," she said breathlessly when he pulled away.

He chuckled against her chin before kissing her again. "I know."

She pouted. "That's not the right answer."

"No?"

She shook her head. "Uh-uh."

He stared at her thoughtfully, his fingers lifting to tuck a lock of hair behind her ear. "I love you."

She smiled brightly as she always did when he said those words. "Doctor… Did it bother you, meeting my ex-boyfriend?"

"No."

"Are you sure? You're acting sort of funny."

"According to you, I always act funny."

"No," she laughed. "You know what I mean."

He sighed. "I didn't like seeing you talking with him, no, but I don't feel threatened if that's what you're asking."

"No?"

"No."

"Good. You know, he was the first man I ever thought I could marry."

"… Where is this going?"

She smacked him lightly in the chest. "I'm telling you a story. I told you we'd dated in university, and that he was my first sexual relationship…" She fiddled with the buttons on his shirt. "But he really liked this other girl, Maureen, and shortly after graduation, I found out they were dating… even though he and I had sort of, well, been together the week after graduation."

"Moves fast, doesn't he?"

She snorted derisively. "Yeah. Now he and Maureen are divorced, his date for the night left him, and I'm pretty sure if you hadn't shown up when you did, he would have tried to talk me into going home with him."

"Would you have?"

She shot him a look. "What do you think?"

"I think I'm much taller than he is."

Clara laughed properly at that. "Yes, you are. Much taller, much handsomer— sometimes much needier," she half-teased, "but definitely much kinder and more thoughtful. And funnier."

He grinned at her, and she couldn't help but kiss him. Perhaps she shouldn't find his jealousy as endearing as she did, but it wasn't the nasty, overbearing sort of jealousy that made her feel like a possession. It was the sort that reminded her that the man she loved didn't take her for granted, because he'd loved deeply and lost so much in his life, which had taught him to fear losing what mattered. She knew he was terrified of losing her and she didn't want to feed that fear, even if that meant inflating his ego every once and a while.

He was actually rather cute when he got all big-headed, strutting about like a peacock or the cat who ate the canary.

"Darling?" she said softly. "Come to bed."

"Have you ever noticed you've got a lot of pet names for me?" he pointed out with a smile as she slid her fingers underneath his collar, stroking his collarbone. "Darling, sweetheart…"

"Butterfingers?" she added sweetly.

"Makes me feel like I should have some for you."

"Oh, you do."

He leaned back a little. "No I don't."

"Just the other day, you kept calling me 'pudding pop' and 'sugar plum'… I think you were really hungry."

He laughed and hugged her to him, his lips falling lazily to the curve of her neck. "Mm, probably. You are delicious."

She giggled and swatted his shoulder, her legs draping over his lap as they continued to hold each other in the darkness. Her fingers continued to skim across the skin under his collar, and not for the first time she appreciated how nice it was just to touch him.

"Would it bother you?" he asked after a brief silence. Her fingers were now lacing through the hair at the back of his head. "If we'd run into one of my ex-girlfriends?"

Mindlessly, she gripped his hair tightly and he hissed in pain. "Sorry," she muttered, smoothing his hair back.

"I guess that answers my question," he replied with a chuckle.

"_No_, it doesn't," she pouted. "I… I dunno, really. Maybe? Are any of them prettier than me?"

He touched her face. "No."

"You're lying."

"No, I'm not."

"Yes, you are. If any of your ex-girlfriends look like your girl friends I've met, then you are definitely lying."

"Clara, you're beautiful."

"I'm not saying I'm not—I'm saying you're lying to me."

He huffed with annoyance, although his lips were still curved in a smile. "You're impossible."

"There's another one," she said with a grin, poking him in the chest.

"Another what?"

"Pet name."

"So you're saying it would only bother you if we ran into one of my ex-girlfriends and you thought she was prettier than me?"

Clara laughed. "Where is this going?"

He shrugged. "You keep teasing me for being jealous. Pardon me for thinking you might be too."

"Oh, I could be jealous, I guess, but…" She faked a yawn and covered her mouth with her left hand, showing off her ring. "I'd say I'm winning."

"That you are," he replied with an amused chuckle.

"I like making you smile," she confessed without thinking.

"Yeah? Is that why you're so ridiculous?"

She pretended to think it over while she wrapped her arms around his neck. "Erm… yes."

He kissed her again, and the whole room grew quiet, save for the sound of their rustling clothes and the loud way they breathed into each other's mouths.

"Come to bed, my love," she pled softly.

"Yes, dear."


	3. The List

_This is set after the squeaky bed incident in _The IT Guy_, which places us between chapters 20 and 21 for those following along._

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><p><strong>The List<strong>

They'd met at a pub near the office after work that evening for drinks. They sat a small table against the wall and chatted for two and a half hours about everything and nothing. Clara was constantly amazed by how much the Doctor could talk for a man who was so secretive about his past. Whenever he did tell her stories about his family or his childhood, they were always less detailed than his other anecdotes, but he told her about the family dog and how his mum had constantly fussed over his shirt collars like he just couldn't resist telling her these little things about himself.

She realised she was fully, properly in love with him whenever he exhibited that sort of attentive, eager enthusiasm that begged her to know him better and accept him for it.

She felt buzzed after three glasses of wine. They left the pub clutching to each other for warmth as the chill March winds barrelled through the narrow streets of London.

"Come home with me," she said.

They were standing in front of the tube stop. Last week, after coming back from Nottingham, he'd spent the night with her as she recovered from a bout of food poisoning. It had been the second time they'd slept together, and unfortunately the last. The past week had been hectic, especially with her aunt coming to visit for three days. Nina had allowed Clara to stay in her room while her Aunt stayed in hers, and although she jokingly suggested to Clara that the Doctor could join them as well (while she was on the phone with him one night, which had reduced Clara to giggling incoherently), there hadn't been many opportunities for them to be together.

She slid her fingers along the lines of his lapel and glanced up at him through her eyelashes, grinning softly as she waited for his response.

He looked a bit nervous, bless him. "I haven't gotten any pyjamas."

"You won't need them."

A grin slowly crept onto his lips. She realised he was messing with her. "Or a toothbrush. Dental hygiene is very important."

She tugged impatiently on the front of his jacket. "You can borrow mine."

"Ew, isn't that a bit gross?"

She pulled his head towards hers and whispered warmly into his ear. "You let me put my tongue in your mouth; a toothbrush isn't much different."

He laughed softly and she kissed his neck. "Oh, I don't know. I might need some persuading."

"Oh, really?"

He shrugged and bobbed his head side to side in an aloof manner. Clara pursed her lips, grinning, and then pulled him down for a kiss that tasted like red wine. He lowered his hands to the curves at her waist and she ruffled her fingers through the back of his hair while curling her tongue against the inside of his upper lip. He moaned softly and she had to keep from laughing at how easy he was.

"Nah, you're right," she said when she pulled away. "We should just call it a night."

"Oh… I… right, OK. I suppose, yeah."

She giggled, smiling brightly at his dopeish look of disappointment. "I'm kidding."

"Oh, thank god."

Nina was on the sofa watching telly when they got home. She grinned knowingly at them both when they headed up the stairs. "Have a good night," she called.

He kissed her softly once they were alone in her bedroom. Clara looped her arms around his neck as he pushed her down onto the bed, his lips eagerly moving against hers as he slipped his hands under the hem of her blouse. She parted her legs and he shifted on top of her, resulting in an absurdly loud squeak of the bedsprings.

His hands and lips stilled against her. "No…"

Clara stifled a laugh. "My bed never squeaked until you showed up."

"Do you think it's trying to discourage us?"

"Dunno. Perhaps it's haunted by the ghost of my Great Aunt Gertie."

"You have a Great Aunt Gertie?"

"Well, I did, yeah."

"That is _such_ a great aunt name. Gertie…"

She touched her fingers to his chin and redirected his attention to her face. "Focus, please."

A grin curled at one corner of his mouth as he drank her in. "Yes, ma'am."

She scooted back into the centre of the bed, pulling the Doctor with her. He chuckled at the awkward movements until she was settled against the pillows and her lips puckered against his. "There," she whispered. "That's better."

He nodded eagerly in agreement before allowing his hands to resume their path along her skin. She peeled his jacket away from his shoulders and they began the slow dance of undressing each other, pausing every now and then to kiss and caress each other's skin.

She noticed that he liked to tell her how beautiful she was when he moved inside of her. He would utter the words breathlessly into her hair as she gasped and clutched at his back, soft cries escaping her throat as his hips shifted into hers. He noticed that she was always eager to encourage him when he did something she liked. Whenever he nipped at a certain spot on her neck, she would cling to him and say, "Yes, _yes_," over and over in a strained voice.

Afterwards, he lifted his face from where it had been pressed into her pillow and smiled breathlessly at her. She pushed his hair away from his forehead and grinned at how messy he looked. He was so fussy about his hair that she relished any opportunity to muss it up.

His expression shifted into something unreadable when he touched her face, his thumb tracing the contours of her lips. She kissed the pad of his thumb and he smiled briefly before continuing to stare at her with that inscrutable look on his face.

"What is it?" she asked.

"I'm sorry I left you that first night," he said. "I wish I hadn't. That's not how I wanted our first night together to end."

Her eyes lowered sadly and she nodded. "Nor me."

"I kept making all of these plans for how it would be, but none of them ever worked out. I was so scared of ruining it."

"But it was perfect," she insisted. "Until you left, of course."

He heaved a sigh and lowered his forehead against hers, his breath washing over her chin. Clara slid her palms along the smooth expanse of his back soothingly and offered him a soft smile. As grateful as she was for his apology, she felt it was even more important that he knew she forgave him.

He covered her lips with his and kissed her languidly, his fingers dipping into her hair as she poured her breath between his lips.

"You deserve something perfect."

"Oh, Doctor—nothing's perfect."

He breathed a tiny laugh and nodded. "I know. But it's what you deserve."

"Oh, don't start," she said, tapping his nose playfully. "Can't have you thinking I'm perfect. That's too much for a girl to live up to."

"I don't think you're perfect," he assured her. "I just feel like you deserve the best of everything. The best of me."

She blinked rapidly and then drew his head towards hers for another kiss, her heart fluttering in her chest. "My sweet Doctor…"

After a moment, he shifted onto the bed next to her and she curled up against his side, her head nestled against his shoulder as he wrapped his arms around her. They lay there for a long time in the dark listening to the sounds of the traffic passing on the street below and the muffled noise of the TV downstairs.

"Doctor?"

"Hmm?"

"How many women have you been with?"

"Er…"

He tensed nervously and Clara laughed. "There's no wrong answer."

"I know, I just… hate this question."

She frowned. "Do you not want to tell me?"

"No, it's not that. I just feel awkward thinking about the other women I've slept with when you're in my arms."

She couldn't help but grin. "Oh. Good answer."

He chuckled and then sighed up at the ceiling. "You might think I'm a bit of a slag after this."

"Really?" she replied, oddly excited by this news. He always behaved so prudishly that she'd worried she and his ex-wife were the only women he'd been with.

Oh, how wrong she was. He started listing off names, some of them sounding normal enough like Sarah Jane and Tegan, but then there was Peri, Ace, Romana, and then the list started to include people she knew. Rose, River… "And now you."

"Goodness. I've joined quite the chorus line."

He flushed bright pink and turned away from her bashfully. Clara kissed his collarbone and giggled.

"What about you, then?" he asked. "Who else has managed to lure the beautiful Clara Oswald into bed?"

"I love it when you make me sound like an exotic fish."

"Don't deflect."

She sighed thoughtfully. "Well, there was Will, my first boyfriend when I was seventeen. Then Liam Tucker, my first boyfriend in university." She blushed at her little fib. She and Liam hadn't really dated so much as taken a class together and hooked up after a campus party.

"You sure like blokes named William."

"Oh, you're the first one to have noticed that," she said dryly. Nina had found the 'Will and Liam' thing funny for the past seven years. "Then there was Mike Lombardi, my second boyfriend at uni… and then you."

His eyebrows lifted high enough on his forehead that they were actually visible. "Are you telling me you haven't had sex since university?"

It was her turn to blush. "Shut up."

"But you graduated…" His lips moved silently as he counted. "_Six_ years ago, Clara."

"Yes, I'm aware."

"That's… a long time."

"Yes."

He rolled onto his side and started kissing her. Clara giggled. "What are you doing?"

"I've got a lot of work to do if we're going to make up for those six years of celibacy."

She giggled but didn't fight him off when he ran his hands up and down her back, palms dipping into the curve of her waist before firmly gripping her arse. "So you're taking on the responsibility of making up for it?" she teased breathlessly.

His lips moved to her collarbone and then lower. "Yes."

Clara rolled onto her back as his lips moved even lower. She breathed heavily up at the ceiling and then closed her eyes. "Okay."


End file.
